Little Bird
by MissPoisonedAddiction1
Summary: Bella Swan,  Little Bird, your wings are broken, but as long as the sun, Jacob, and the cold one, Edward, are alive, your wings don't exist. You should have given them time to heal, Little Bird.


**Authors Note:**

_Was in the mood to write some angsty stuff (again) and such. I hope you like this one._

**Disclaimer:**

_Do not own._

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* * *

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_Like a bird, you can't fly just yet, because your wings are torn._

_Give it time, little bird._

_Give it time._

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* * *

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You didn't have many friends as a child—didn't know why they laughed at you when you scraped your knees—you have scars to prove that you do have a heart, and just like most things in this universe, you bled.

When you can't say that persons name—the one who had left you behind, amongst everything; leaving your universe stuck in place, gravity denying you generosity as you fell, as the world tilted on its axis—you realized that maybe it wasn't as great as it seemed.

You remember the pads of his fingers ghosting over your skin, your neck, never really touching; just leaving you begging for more contact, more anything.

But then he left.

And your wings broke and tore. Feathers disappeared with unbroken promises of return, and again, your world tilted, threatened to end you.

Like a lot of things, you just needed time to heal.

* * *

Instead, you were daring and bold, and for the first time you felt almost alive.

Until the sun rose and blinded you, so you had to rely on touch and smell when he was gone. You were never really whole without him in the first place, and now he blinds you.

Like a lot of things, you just needed time.

But those spaces where your wings needed healing—where they could have—were spent with your sun, and your wings began to become non-existent.

Little bird, you've forgotten what happened when you allowed yourself to become happy with someone's proximity, the warmth of him. Allowed yourself to love.

And like all things, he came to an end—disappeared from existence. This time your wings are alive, still broken and bleeding and it _hurts_. Little bird is alone, now, and sleep is rare. You wake up screaming, the pain from your broken wings too much, too fast. And your father comes in with a gun, afraid someone was trying to kill you. He lowers it when he realizes it's just like before—but the pain is fresher now.

He wipes away your tears, and part of you breaks.

* * *

Little bird, you need something again. Closure? Yes. But with these broken wings of yours, you can't see from above, can only feel the hurt inside you.

His words were sharp. They told you to stay away.

The sun had disappeared with Sam Uley.

Your wings tear again.

You can't fly anymore—you've forgotten how.

* * *

Feathers still grow, as if you're healing while your head is turned the other way.

Do you miss them, little bird?

All you ever really needed was time. But you went back for more, didn't you? You needed the blinding sun back, although it could have killed you in the first place.

He's not a monster. And part of you wishes he was, so you could stay mad at him for leaving you with false hope. But the truth of his words, they give that hope back, smidgens of it. Ask yourself, little bird, are you ready to be hurt again?

* * *

You want to cut off your wings.

They're a reminder of everything that ever hurt you. Ever will hurt you.

The world begins to spin again, steadily. Doesn't tilt anymore. You stand upright. And you want to show them you can fly, if only your wings would heal faster.

You've become part of the family, now, the pack. But a bird doesn't belong in a world full of bloodshed, on the ground where you don't rely on only yourself.

It hurts to realize you're always going to forgive him, because you made mud pies together.

Little bird, you're healing now. You're smiling. And although someone out there is trying to hunt you down, your safe with this family.

Little bird, you're healing.

* * *

You try to fly, again. You make it off the ground, but steady hands catch you as the voice that you once adored, would have died to hear, taunts you—lets you fall. You try not to cry.

But little bird, you're trying.

And time is almost gone.

* * *

When that one who left you is going to die, you have thoughts that stay with you. If he hurt you so badly, doesn't he deserve some of the pain you harboured? But little bird, you're gentle and loving and kind, so you go with the girl who is always so blissfully happy.

Who is a vampire.

The wolves are hungry, pacing, waiting for her to step out of line.

You try to fly again, but this time, your wings are healed. It's you who's forgotten how to fly.

Should have given it time, little bird.

* * *

He's safe, in your arms. You're safe in his. Part of you remembers the blinding sun. Part of you wishes you would have stayed with him. But little bird, you can only fly so high—and the sun can burn you.

This person beside you would die for you, with you. That has to mean something.

You try flying again.

Little bird, you never realized how hard it is to fly in the dark.

The wolves lick their lips as they wait in vain for something that will allow them to slaughter the cold ones. You have two family's now. And it's so hard to see in the dark.

* * *

But you fly, now, little bird. You fly again.

All is right in the world, because your wings have come together again. They would have never been whole without him, the one beside you. But the sun, you remember, was warmth, home. You don't know which is home now. Because it's hard to see from above.

But little bird, you're flying.

You gave it time.


End file.
